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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738087">That time Queen saved The Old Guard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifichicx/pseuds/scifichicx'>scifichicx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andromache the hot mess, Gen, No shame, Performative drunkenness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:08:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifichicx/pseuds/scifichicx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During what was supposed to be a simple recon in a bar, tensions run too high, innocent people could get hurt and Andy needs to figure out how to diffuse the situation...</p><p>Thank God there's a jukebox.</p><p> </p><p>(The song is Don't Stop Me Now by Queen, in case you aren't familiar)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy | Andromache &amp; Booker | Sebastien le Livre &amp; Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani &amp; Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>That time Queen saved The Old Guard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>No beta. We die like men. (and then come back)</p><p>But I'll take any notes y'all have.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The little shits with guns were everywhere. There were way-too-fucking-many of them and they were every-fucking-where. This place was about to go up like a powder keg, and for the bizarre reason that it was full of too many rich shitheads of conflicting generations that hated each other for being 4-16 years apart in age. They were all here in a bid of favor. Or as they casually said, in this current place and time: they wanted to be cool. </p><p>"<i>Cool."</i></p><p>Cool was a chill breeze blessing your face when a day seemed too hot to bear. Cool was that amazing feeling when you step from a desert city into a fabulously air-conditioned shopping center. Cool was when that really attractive young woman from the spa put that eucalyptus peppermint thing onto your face. </p><p>Cool was not this pressure cooker of an underground club that had been oversaturated with too many conflicting backroom deals. Nor was it the oblivious patrons weaving between cocktails and the ancient promise of a fuck. Cool was somewhere else; far away from here.</p><p>She'd counted at least twenty pistols peeking from coats and waist bands, attached to men who had that look of wanting to fight just to prove they were powerful. Andy knew power, and the only men here who truly possessed it were the ones she'd walked in with. Between the egos and the liquor, insults were becoming threats and the threats were reaching a threshold that would only end bloody. </p><p>Six years ago, this was a place still owned and controlled by a particular collection of Russian families. But times change and families fight. This was clearly news to the visiting Russian crime lord who was severely weary of the young bulls strutting and posturing at each other. He had muscle that at least looked like it was trained and while a wise man would observe this and move on, the young gangsters were nearly salivating at the chance to prove their prowess. </p><p>The escalation started with instinct. There was a strung out lackey with messy, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, wearing his sunglasses in here at night like a prick. He reached for his gun and Andy caught it and twisted it back out of his hand, pulling him against her in the process. "Wanna dance?" She asked, spinning him around and shoving his own barrel into his gut. The guy's glasses didn't hide the shock on his face. Andy smiled at him sweetly, (sweet like foxglove) and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as she pulled him to the closest place the bar had to a dance floor. </p><p>She held him so tight it made him hunch over the gun, which also allowed his open jacket to hang loose and conceal the weapon in her hand. "What the fuck do you want?" Glasses asked. </p><p>Andy leaned close to be sure he, and no one else, heard her over the music. "I want you to act like nothing happened." With a wry smirk she added, "Play it cool." </p><p>When he opened his mouth to protest, she cocked the hammer on the gun. The protest ended immediately. "Who do you work for?" He asked. </p><p>Andy's eyes sparkled, "I work for me." It was a simple statement; easy enough to bluff, but there was something in her eyes or her smile that got the point across. She let Glasses go and he took a step back. His gun had already disappeared somewhere into her clothes. "And, yes, I'm keeping this." </p><p>Spooked and confused, glasses gave a startled nod and disappeared back into the crowds around the booths. Unfortunately she hadn't gone as unnoticed as she'd hoped. Two of the Russian's guys were headed her way. A fight would guarantee innocent casualties and that was exactly what she was trying to avoid. </p><p>If she went with them, they'd probably shoot her in the back alley and she'd wake up while getting wrapped in a tarp or worse, with concrete seeping into every God-forsaken place on (in) her body. That wasn't a preferred option, especially since if they didn't kill her they'd try to kidnap her and she was not in the fucking mood. She lifted her hands to show they were empty as the goons got nearly to arm's reach. She stepped back and they advanced. This was not good. She had to think she had to-</p><p>The song changed over, and if 6000 years hadn't exposed her to every kind of humiliation a person could experience, this would be the final piece to complete the collection. She joined along with the lyrics, as loud as she fucking could- "self a real good time. I feel ali-i-i-i-ive." The goons stopped in confusion and eyes started to turn their way. Joe must have seen this all starting because he'd gotten closer and she caught his baffled expression at the far end of the bar. </p><p>"And the world! I'll turn it inside out, I'm floating around, in ecstacy." Andy continued to step back, onto a chair and the top of a table. She flung her arms out and sure enough the whole bar was now paying attention to the crazy drunk on the table, and incidentally looking at the men who'd wanted to give her trouble. She watched their hands move away from their guns and winked at them, "So, don't. Stop. Me. Now." She stepped back, putting her weight on that leg, then shifting it back to her front leg. The table wobbled with her. "Don't stop me, cause I'm having a good time, having a good time-" She hopped back with her full weight and the table upended, throwing drinks and scattering patrons.</p><p>The goons staggered back and had to deal with the drunks fleeing from Andy's chaos in their direction. "Whoops," she said in their direction. "They pour 'em strong here." Joe was already there, lifting the gun off one of the men.</p><p>Before the other goon could react, Booker was grinning into his face singing, "I'm a racing car, passing by, like LADY GODIVA- I'm gonna go," (take your gun), "go go go," and he spun the goon around so he could collide with his buddy who Joe had "accidentally" knocked off balance. "There's no stopping me!" </p><p>The bar was in chaos. People were trying to leave, none of the young blood gangsters seemed to know what the fuck to do and blissfully, it appeared the Russian was done dealing with this establishment. He gathered up his entourage and they made their way out the back. Andy stumbled to the bar, knocking over drinks and encouraging the departure of the people there. She sang, "Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit." </p><p>Booker, still grinning, joined her, "I'm traveling at the speed of light!" For a moment, they sang into each other's faces, leaning into the absurdity of the moment. "I wanna make a super. Sonic. Man. Out. Of. You." Andy couldn't help but laugh. Shame became fun with Booker around. She cocked her head to the door and caught Joe's eye before heading that way.</p><p>The bartender was already on the phone with whom Andy assumed were the police, but he took a moment to match her volume in a colorful string of curses. If that, and some shattered glass were the only casualties of the evening, Andy considered that a win. No shots fired and now the police on the way. For at least tonight, this powder keg wasn't going off. </p><p>Nicky was already pulling the car up when they spilled out. He leaned over to pop the passenger door open for Andy, greeting her with, "What the fuck was that?"</p><p>Andy laughed, tossing Booker a grin as he settled into the back. He winked at her and told Nicky, "Go big or go home, right?" </p><p>Somehow Andy's smile widened and she happily slapped the dash, signaling to Nicky that it was time to get the hell outta Dodge. "That's it." </p><p>The car peeled off into the damp city night.</p>
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